The Goblin King
by Soshite
Summary: We all know what happened when Sarah called the goblins to take her brother away, but what happened before that? Here is the tale of the time before Sarah. The tale of how the Goblin King came to be.


**Title:** The Goblin King

**Author:** Soshite

**Summary:** We all know what happened when Sarah called the goblins to take her brother away, but what happened before that? Here is the tale of the time before Sarah. The tale of how the Goblin King came to be.

**Rated:** T

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Labyrinth, its storyline or its characters, nor do I own any lyrics used as dialogue here. They all belong to their specific owners.

**PROLOGUE**

Lost

There was a place in the Underground where all children were told never to stray to or bad things would happen to them. It was very hard not to, as children are prone to mischief when unattended and daring each other into doing silly little things in order to show their bravery to their peers. But it was always in the name of harmless fun. No one ever really got hurt from going near the place—it was just a story parents made up so they didn't have to explain the real reason why they couldn't enter a place. That was all. Just a tiny little white lie...all so that they could keep their children safe.

The land was desolate, while also deceivingly charming in its entirety. It made perfectly logical sense, while existing entirely as a contradiction. Tall walls blocked off the view of those curious enough to see this forbidden place that they weren't allowed to enter. Ever. No one ever came out from the large gates located at the far south of the legendary Labyrinth. No one knew how long the Labyrinth had been in existence, nor the true reason why it existed. And if anyone once did possess such information, their knowledge was long lost to the canals of time. But there was a tale, as there always is.

Once upon a time, there was a land so fertile that life simply came to be whenever a single drop of water touched the ground. Beautiful forests sprang up from the earth, babbling brookes filled the land and a shining light would bring warmth and happiness to all who lived in this land. The people who came to live there took care of the land and the land returned the favor and took care of them. The place was magical and soon came to have a mind of its own. It appointed a king who ruled justly and was loved by all with the strength of his will and the power of his good and pure heart. The land always knew what was best, but it was still young, still new and—dare we say it—quite _green_.

But as it always is with life, things can never remain the same forever.

Once upon a time there was a wizard so vile not even his own mother loved him. He kidnapped children and used their youth to give himself immortality and great power by devouring their souls. He had heard of this land and tried to take it as his own, for what more could he ask for, but a land where life was ever renewing itself? A terrible war was waged upon this enchanted land; blood spilled and much life was lost until the land itself became barren and wasted, a direct result of the anguish of the people and the hatred and greed of the wizard. Those that fought were slaughtered under his hand, those that didn't fight and had managed to survive the massacre had been turned into gnarled, ugly, dumb versions of themselves. He had turned them into goblins, a disgusting shadow of their former selves as punishment for resisting him.

The conscient land was beside itself. The people it had learned to love and had loved it were all, but a figment of the past all either dead or turned into the stumbling, unintelligent brutes that they were now. And that wizard...this person masquerading as a person...his presence was poisonous, so much that it seeped into the very core of he land, infecting it with bitterness and hatred...something it had rarely ever been conscious of.

And so, it decided to do something about it. It had always been nurturing, growing and caring for its inhabitants—loving them as if they were its children. But now? Now, it knew the meaning of hate...the meaning of wanting to hurt and to cause pain. It chose to hurt the wizard in any way it could.

Walls sprung up from the ground, made of hard stone in random locations at varying distances. They twisted and turned in and around themselves, confusing any and all who tried to traverse the paths that the walls created. Trees dried up, shrivelling until not a single leaf was left upon their great wooden arms; grass died and all the water began to drain. The earth tore itself up, filth spewing forth from its depths until a disgusting, putrid swamp emerged, surrounding the city at the center, made by the beloved people of the land, effectively cutting it off from the rest of the world.

The wizard had invaded it, tore its people asunder and tried to claim it for his own. Well...now it punished him in a way most befitting his crime. He was all alone with it now, with no one to stop him—trapped in a place that reflected his evil heart. A Labyrinth of no escape, frought with dangers and hardships unnumbered...

...or so Jareth was told.

The wizard's darkness had been so deep that it had contaminated the whole area of the Labyrinth, turning it into his own personal Hell, yet also being able to influence his demented 'kingdom' at his own will. But that was just a story told by word of mouth and never kept in writing...mainly because the sources weren't exactly trusted ones.

But that was besides the point. His parents had repeatedly and patiently told him never to venture near the Labyrinth and the little blond boy of eight had always done as he was told—if whimsy didn't cause him to disobey, of couse. But the thought of going against the words of his parents wasn't something that crossed his young mind very often, as the boy instinctively knew that they knew best when it came to his safety—even if they weren't always around to reassure it. And, at the moment, he was teetering on the edge of a son's duty to his parents and the duty of an older brother to his younger sister.

Jolie was about as precious and beautiful as her name implied. Fair haired, white of skin and with the biggest pair of blue eyes that had ever graced the Underground. She was also in possession of the biggest mischief streak as well. But despite all of these sickeningly sweet qualities that made all the adults fawn on her, Jolie was still Jareth's sister and, as such, he was responsible for her—even when she wasn't being as sweet as a pea and was crying her head off when she had inadvertedly knocked his favorite ball up and over the wall of the illustrious Labyrinth while playing with him and his best friend.

"I'm sorry, Jareth! I'm sorry!" Jolie blubbered as six year olds were wont to do when they knew they were in trouble. While the little girl was quite the little mischiefmaker, it didn't mean she didn't adore her older brother who was her only source of entertainment and friendship. Jolie and Jareth were both of the race known simply as the Fae and their kind weren't known for having children in large numbers. The fact that their parents had Jolie at all was something of a miracle. The age gaps between each Fae child were usually astounding—beginning anywhere between 75 or even 200 years. But for Jareth and Jolie, the age gap was a mere two years.

Somehow, Jareth wished it had been two hundred, for he was sure that once he had grown up somewhat he would find that his sister's incessant wailings of guilt would be more pleasant on his ears than they were now. Goodness! He was trying to think of a way to get his ball back so they could continue to play as if nothing had happened. After all, how in the Underground was he supposed to explain to his parents about the sudden disappearance of his most treasured toy? He certainly wasn't going to tell them he had led his sister to the Wastes where the Labyrinth laid in waiting to supposedly snatch them up! His eight year old pride wouldn't allow it!

A hand fell atop Jolie's head, silencing her for a moment as she peered up to look at her older brother's friend, the young prince of a neighbouring kingdom. He smiled softly down at her and she blushed, quieting down, allowing for the two boys to speak to one another without much interruption. Jareth shot his friend a glance of gratitude, not sure what he would have done if it had just been him and Jolie.

"So, Gareth...what's your plan?" he asked, pushing back a lock of his own blond hair, the color of pale sand. Grey eyes studied the tall, foreboding walls of the Labyrinth, searching for an entrance somewhere. "Are we going to go in, or are we going to leave it?" Jareth frowned at him and huffed indignantly.

"It's _Jareth_, Azrael. With a _J_."

"Whatever you say, _Gareth_."

Knowing that this could only lead to nowhere, the nobleman's son (for that's what Jareth was, compared to Azrael who would one day succeed his father and become king) just ignored his friend's ribbing and continued to think of a plan of action to retrieve his ball—or go home with scraped knees trying. There really wasn't any other way about it.

"The plan is...that you're going to stay here with Jolie...and I'll go and get my ball back. Simple as that."

"B-but, Jareth," Jolie spoke, the waterworks ready to start all over again, much to her sibling's chagrin. "Mama says that you can't go in there...it's forbi—forbo—mama says you can't go!" It really was hard to take the little girl seriously when she stuttered like that, but when it came to a mandate given by their mother the both of them listened well enough. However, either way, their mother would find out about their dealings with the Labyrinth that day so Jareth decided that if he was going to get into trouble, he might as well go all the way.

Azrael looked concerned that his friend would risk his life over a ball, but if had been a favored possession of his own, he supposed he would have risk life and neck for it as well. So all he could do was sigh, hang onto Jolie who started crying again and wish Jareth good luck. Of course, there was one little problem...

"Jareth?"

"What?" the youth said imperiously, looking at the Labyrinth with a steady gaze; with unwavering fear.

"I'd hate to ruin the heroic moment here, but..."

"But...?"

"But..."

Jareth made an aggravated sound and whirled on his friend. "What? What _is_ it?!"

"There's no door."

Jareth blinked. Blinked once more and then blinked again. Slowly turning around he peered at the high walls, looking left and right and up and down. A nervous laughed escaped his lips.

"Ha. So there isn't." Somehow, the boy seemed relieved that there wasn't an entrance to the Labyrinth. Azrael heard the relief in his voice and smirked.

"Not scared, are you?" he asked.

Jareth puffed up his chest. "Me? Scared? Not on your life!" He cast his blue gaze out towards the waiting Labyrinth, where his ball would be waiting for him. It couldn't be all bad, right? There were no signs of life as far as anyone could tell and those stories...were all made up, Jareth was sure. Just an adult lie made to keep wayward Fae children in line. He would traverse the Labyrinth...and come out victorious!

--

Jareth was the eldest of two and the son of a noble in the Crescent Kingdom, whose symbol was that of a crescent moon. The Crescent Kingdom neighboured the Shadow Kingdom (whose name came from the fact that the royal family had control over shadow magic, rather than having their country plunged into darkness where, technically, no shadow could possibly exist) and they were on good terms with one another, considering the friendships built between the current monarchies. It was through a festival held in Crescent that the young prince of Shadow met Jareth as he was playing some mischief on another one of the visiting dignitaries. The prince had caught theyoung boy and scolded him for a good fifteen minutes...then _really_ showed him how to catch a lady's skirts on fire.

Needless to say, Jareth and Azrael weren't allowed to use fire magic again. Ever. It was the explosive start to a great friendship that would last centuries and centuries before an abrupt tragedy would drag the friends apart. But that is a story for another time.

"_Guileless child, I'll shape your belief and you'll always know that your father's a thief..._"

Jareth's family was, of course, descended from the royal family of Crescent, but were so far off that they might as well have been a part of the gentry. His father being a mere count, and himself a viscount, and the youngest of seven male heirs who had children of their own, neither Jareth nor his father would ever see the throne. But that was fine, as far as Jareth's father was concerned as he preferred the simple life he had now than the one that would demand all of his time and energy in exchange for a crown and scepter. Our young man had different ideas, but don't all children do when they think they could change the world with their own two hands?

There had been an entrance to the Labyrinth, but it took the boy a good ten minutes before he could find it. He felt up against the wall, the feeling of cracked stone and soft lichen rubbing against his skin, until he found what he had been searching for. It didn't open for him right away. Not when he pushed at it, pulled it with whatever was on the door or shook it with all of his might. The door had him stumped for a good while and he wondered if there really was a door or if it was just a part of the wall much like the rest of the exterior. Just bland brick. In frustration, he kicked the door and watched in amazement as it swung wide open for him. Jareth stared dumbly at the entrance that just revealed itself to him, his jaw slack a few moments before he got his wits about him and strode on ahead. Once he crossed the threshold the doors swung closed behind him.

"_And you won't understand the cause of your grief, but you'll always follow the voices beneath..._"

From then on it was endless wandering.

There was a maddening voice singing all around him as he trekked the outer parts of the Labyrinth, trying to locate his missing ball. It was sickeningly sweet, crooning softly to him; was there someone watching him? It was hard to navigate the pathways which seemed to go on and on no matter how long the boy would walk. He began to wish that he hadn't decided to be brave and entered the forbidden area all by himself just to fetch his ball. What was he—five? No, he was eight years old and that meant he shouldn't be so attached to such an old toy! Then again...it had been a fine gift, a great toy that served faithfully as companion and entertainment for several years.

No, Jareth decided mentally, he had to do this. Even if it was just a silly ball, it was _his_ silly ball and he was going to get it back no matter what it took. As long as he had a pair of good legs, he kept stubbornly moving forward.

There was no telling how long the Fae youth had spent within the Labyrinth, seemingly going the exact same path in spite of the distance he went. It was as if the structure of the place had suddenly decided to relocate itself until it became just one big circle—although, if his eyes weren't deceiving him, it would be impossible as the road he had taken was one very straight line. He couldn't spot any openings he could go through, no doorways ready to give way to him.

He really should have listened to Jolie. Jareth leaned against a wall and sighed, letting himself slid downwards until he sat in the dirt, trying to think of a way out—when he belated realized he wasn't sure where out was anymore. Had it been to the left? Or to the right? And which way he had come in again?

"_Guileless child, your spirit will hate her; the flower who married my brother the traitor..._"

The ball shouldn't have gotten that far. It fell just over a wall. It really _shouldn't_ have gone far and he _should_ have come across it now.

But in the Labyrinth 'should' did not concurr with 'would'.

Left became right; right became left and time was endless within the large stone maze. Jareth stumbled upon an opening—the first in a long road of endless dirt—finding himself in another location altogether. The ground was covered in cobblestones, there were weeds growing out of the dirt in between each round stone and in cracks found all over the place. It was the first signs of life that he could ascertain from a first glance. The walls around here were circular rather than straight. He was in a courtyard of some sort with various entrances leading off to different directions. Minus his own, of course. It had immediately disappear the moment he turned back to it.

Jareth turned round and round and round, trying to discern which way he had come or to try to find a way that could lead him back, but everything looked the same to him. Which was the right way? Which one was his way? He didn't know...

"_And you will expose his puppet behaviour for you are the proof of how he betrayed her loyalty..._"

The boy closed his eyes a moment. He opened them.

"_Hush child, the darkness will rise from the deep and carry you down into sleep..._"

The blond boy whirled around and a large fountain stood where there had only been stone and granite in the middle of the circular court. It wasn't magnificent or overly ornate in style, but it served its purpose of drawing his curious eyes towards it. There was a single lily floating on a round green pad and he watched as it floated across a disturbingly still body of water. There were no ripples, as if the floated there through the air, sailing without really touching the surface of the water inside the dead fountain. It was like a ghost—beautiful and strange as this place he had found himself in.

His eyes carefully follow the bloom's progression until it stopped at the other end where a hand as white as the lily picked it up. Upon better inspection, the hand that held the flower close to an aristocratic nose was covered in a silk glove. Looking up, his eyes met that of the person daintilly smelling the flower, pale pink lips curled up in private amusement. Jareth stared at her, befuddled, for he had never seen such a woman before. Her beauty was indescribable. Mere words couldn't have done her justice as she was so utterly unreal in her grace, white-blond hair falling over soft shoulders, the light reflecting off of the diamond crown she wore as she gazed at him. And that was what really caught the boy's breath. It was her eyes.

One eye was similar to his; a blue likened to a cloudless sky and seemingly just as endless. The other was dark, however, a cross of red and brown—like that of a garnet jewel; it held a mysterious gleam in its depths as it held his gaze with its neighbour. Both arched slightly as she smiled at him, slowly moving to stand up.

"_Child, the darkness will rise from the deep and carry you down into sleep..._"

Jareth blinked as he felt her voice sounded familiar. Had that...been her singing while he traveled the Labyrinth? It was a truly maddening sound. Like a siren's call, for it was indeed a sound with perfect pitch and tune, but he felt as if it would lead him straight to his doom for no voice need sound so enchanting; like the magic that coursed through all the veins of the Fae. Coupled with her ethereal beauty—a beauty not even common amongst the Fae who were all winsome in their own right—Jareth's young, impressionable mind stood no chance and this was exactly how she had wanted it.

Before he knew it, she stood before him.

"Well, now...what do we have here?" she wondered aloud, looking down upon him with those mismatched eyes of hers. The blue eye looked down at him kindly, while the red gave nothing away. She tilted her head downwards to have a better look at him, gently turning the lily in her hand. "A little boy who's lost his way?" The tone was both kind and patronizing and while her voice had him bewitched before, he managed to snap out of it when his eight year old pride had been wounded by her 'boy' comment.

"I am no mere _boy_, my lady," he said with all the fierceness and politeness a child his age could muster. His sudden fire delighted the woman before him, which made Jareth bristle even more. "And I am not lost. My _ball_ is the one that is lost." The woman looked at him curiously.

"Oh?" was all she said. Jareth stood straight and puffed out his chest, sticking his hands on his hips.

"That's right. My sister lost my ball. It went flying over your wall and I came here in search of it. And as I am the son of Count Tintagel it is my responsibility to come and retrieve it myself," he said rather importantly. He did not let up his erect posture, his youthful bravado not letting him see the unfamiliar gleam in the woman's eyes as she looked down her nose at him. There was a small twitch at the corner of her mouth and she turned to face away from Jareth.

"Count Tintagel?" she repeated softly, her voice like a cold caress on his skin. The boy shuddered softly. "How very...interesting..."

She whirled around, nearly startling him into jumping right out of his boots. She beamed at him, turning the flower in her hand between her slender fingers in an almost absent manner. She reached out to cupped his cheek and her touch was very cool; like winter's breath. She stroked it gently and the boy, being a boy, did not find the action very menacing. After all, what would normally disturb an adult wouldn't neccessarily bother a child and he had such big expectations of himself. He wouldn't be cowed by some strange woman in the middle of nowhere!

"You should take care, Son of Tintagel," she said sweetly. She twirled her lily in one hand, her fingers moving so deftly Jareth could hardly keep track of its quicksilver movements. "For you know not of what dangerous path you tread." His eyes were glued to the lily as the strange woman spoke and he didn't even notice her take her cold hand away and taking a step from him. He barely registered her words as foreboding as they were becoming. "But I'll let you go this time."

And quite suddenly he was outside again with only the faint echo of her laughter ringing in his ears, his missing ball in his hands. Jareth threw his gaze about in confusion, wondering how in the Underground he had gotten in and out so quickly like that. The young noble drew his eyebrows together and began to wonder if anything that had happened in the last while had happened at all. Had it been his imagination? He cast his eyes to the sky and found it exactly as he had left it when he went to venture into the depths of the Labyrinth to retrieve his lost ball.

Jareth looked at the tall wall of the Labyrinth as unforgiving and closed off as it usually was. He saw no clue as to the entrance he had found before. He cocked his head to the side, thought about it and then shook his head. There was no good in befuddling himself with mysteries best left for someone else to fathom. He got what he wanted and there would be no strangers singing songs to him anymore or enchanted pathways trying to confuse him. He didn't believe in the tales his parents told him anyways. He was too old for that sort of thing.

As any child would do, he turned around and walked away, oblivious to the eyes that watched him intently as he went his way; they were both adoring and spiteful in their clashing gaze. The woman from the Labyrinth smiled to herself, fingering her white flower which had already wilted in her hands—dried, browned...dead. She traced a finger along her lower lip as she considered the boy who she allowed to leave the Labyrinth. He was the first to do so, but only because it was her will. Not one person had ever walked into her Labyrinth and had bene allowed to leave without her wishing it to be so as it had been for many a year...

But even so, they always came back to the Labyrinth. Always. One way or another...

...And when he came back...


End file.
